


The Illusion Of Your Voice

by YohKoBennington



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amelia as non-romantic by stander chameo, Angst, Dean's here too of course, Gen, Hurt!Sam, Kevin chameo, Lucifer comes to visit, Magic, Physical/Emotional Hurt, Post S7 finale AU, Purgatory, Sam Winchester-centric, Sam being a BAMF, Smartypants!Sammy, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YohKoBennington/pseuds/YohKoBennington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean disappears in Dick Roman's laboratory, Sam is left with no clues as where his brother is, or if he's even alive. But that doesn't stop him from looking for Dean. It doesn't matter how hard the answers turn out to be found, and the things he has to give up and do to get them. Sam is going to get his brother back this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Illusion Of Your Voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [counteragent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/counteragent/gifts).



> *** READ THIS FIRST***
> 
> I wrote this for Counteragent, who bid on me in a Fandomaid round to help for hurricane Sandy relief; two fucking years ago /o\\. I did my best to stick with all her likes, and what she wanted from Sam's characterization, and I hope it actually is a story she can enjoy.
> 
> The whole story is the result of my interpretation of her prompt about what should had happened after Sam was left alone in Roman's lab, and how I saw Sammy spending those months by himself. Therefore, **pretty much nothing from S8 is used here** (only exception is Amelia as someone Sam talks to for a few minutes.) So, don't wait to find anything canon beyond the S7 finale. S8 doesn't exist in this universe ;)
> 
> *****
> 
> Part of the Sammy Big Bang @ LJ and Tumblr.
> 
> Art post here: [bunkbuddylucifer](http://bunkbuddylucifer.tumblr.com/post/109828332118/the-illusion-of-your-voice-art-post)

 

****

 

 

**~*~**

 

 

 

****

 

 

It's been two months. One minute Sam is standing in the lab of Roman's corporation, with the King of the Leviathans oozing black goo as he pulsates from the bone stabbed in his neck, and the next Sam is opening his eyes to find Dean and Castiel gone. Then Crowley takes Kevin with him, and Sam is left completely alone.

It still feels like a nightmare.

Sam tries not to think about how familiar this situation is. How the despair, loneliness and anger he felt when Dean went to Hell comes back full and immense to suffocate him every day he opens his eyes in a new motel room, alone, wishing this wasn't his life again. Except, that time he knew where to look. He knew what the consequences of selling your soul meant, and he hadn't been able to get Dean out of Hell. He fears that now, knowing absolutely nothing, he'll definitely fail again.

Dark circles have made a home under his eyes, and the five o'clock shadow mocks him and his persistence to get up and move, even when with each passing second he dies a little. He doesn't recognize the haunted person who stares back at him from the bathroom mirror some days.

The Impala waits passively in the same place he left it last night. The trunk still houses an arsenal that will make the bravest man run the other way. Dropping his duffel back inside, he slams the trunk lid down.

Abruptly he stops moving. Sam would swear that he sees the shadow of his brother sitting on the driver’s seat. He moves fast toward the front, but when he bends down to look inside the driver's window… emptiness meets his hopeful heart. He exhales, taking a minute to pull himself together, looks up to the blue sky, asking, begging, he doesn't know for what anymore. Taking the car keys out of his front pocket, he climbs inside. The rumble of the engine grounds him. It makes him feel closer to Dean.

Sam is not giving up. There is always an answer. He _will_ find it.

~*~

Two weeks later Sam is woken up from a restless sleep by a phone call from one of Bobby's old friends.

It took a lot from him to reach out to people he didn't know, and he only gave them just enough information that they could use to help. Bobby's friend gives Sam an answer that seems to be his best bet considering his circumstances. There's a shaman that might be able to help him find his brother, but he's reclusive and doesn't like strangers; he might not want to help Sam at all, and if he does to not ask his name.

It's a shot Sam is willing to take.

He ran out of options the first month he spent researching what the sacred bone side-effects were only to discover that they couldn't be found anywhere, except maybe in the tablet that Kevin has with him. And Crowley is hiding very well, knowing that Sam is looking to save Kevin from him.

When Sam sees Crowley again, he's going to stab him in the face.

~*~

The drive takes a day and a half. By the time Sam is climbing the steps of the desolate cabin, he's bone tired and weary. But he has no time to go rest in a motel room. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyways, and a bottle of whiskey is the last thing he wants to be faced with, even when Jack and Jim numb the ache. Gun securely tucked on his back, he knocks on the wooden door, impatiently waiting as he apprehensively scans the surroundings. These days, with Crowley's demons trying to keep track of him, Sam has to be more careful and watch his back.

The door opens with a loud creak. An old man, long hair falling down to his hips in braids, with a patterned shirt, worn down jeans and cowboy boots, stands observing Sam up and down, eyebrows kneaded in thought. Before Sam can introduce himself and plead his case, the man welcomes him to come in. It's quite a surprise considering the warning he got, but he's not going to complain about it. Anything that goes smoothly for him is a breath of fresh air.

Inside, Sam is met with various objects hanging from the ceiling, a combination of jars containing god knows what, feathers, beads, and even some bones that clink when he walks by. Aside from that and a sofa in the corner with blankets pulled back and a pillow that's seen better days, there is nothing else in the cabin, and Sam wonders for a minute where the man eats or if there is even a bathroom.

The old man seats himself on a coarse rug, right in the middle of the room, hand-made black pots positioned to form a sort of circle around him.

“Sit down,” the old man orders, sweeping one hand to the place in front of him, right at the beginning of the rug.

Sam tries to relax, but sits gingerly on the floor.

“What is it that you need, boy?” the old man asks, watching him intently.

Straight to the point, Sam can live with that. “I need to know—” he stops, searching for the right words to explain himself. “Is there any way I can locate someone when I don't know where he is or if he's even alive?”

The old man stares at him, scratching absently at his beard. “You lost something important, and need me to help you find it.”

Sam nods. “That's a way to put it.”

“How important?”

“Excuse me?”

“How important is this that you lost?” he asks passively.

Sam swallows the knot of emotions forming in his throat and looks straight into the man's eyes. “As important as my own life.”

The old man smiles. “What you lost, does it want to be found?”

Sam blinks, confused. “I- I guess. Yes.”

The old man hums and stands up. Sam watches as he goes through the jars, taking things out of some of them and collecting it in a leather pouch. He returns after a few minutes, sitting down where he was before and hands the pouch to Sam, who takes it quickly.

“I'm going to write you a spell. Only works during the full moon,” the old man starts explaining, getting a scrap of paper from under the rug and a pencil. “It won't bring what you lost back,” he says, glancing back at Sam and waiting until Sam nods his understanding before continuing. “But it will show you what you lost.”

“Okay,”

“And you might be able to decipher where he is.”

Or tell him. Dean can tell him where he is as soon Sam can communicate with him.

The old man stares at him, as if he knows what Sam is thinking. “It doesn't work like you want it to do.” He says, rolling the piece of paper. “What you lost cannot help you. It all depends on you,” the old man explains. “You lost it. You find it,” he warns in the most serious tone he has used so far.

Sam’s heart hammers against his chest as he takes the piece of paper.

“Find the most desolate place. Do the spell there,” the old man advises. “Good luck,” he wishes him before getting up.

Sam scrambles to his feet and follows him outside.

“What happens if the spell doesn't work?”

The old man stares at him with ancient eyes for what feels like hours. “Then what you lost cannot be found,” he finally says before turning and going back inside the cabin.

As he stands staring at the now closed door, a sense of dread washes over Sam while a possible truth shoves at his brain, one he avoids thinking about it. Dean is not dead, and he will repeat that mantra until he's proven mistaken.

Sam gets inside the Impala, depositing the pouch next to him and putting the now folded paper inside his front pocket.

At the motel room, he starts making preparations. There is a full moon next week.

~*~

Sam finds there is a desert not too far from the old shaman's place. He drives to the next town and gets a new motel room - two beds, like always. As stupid as it might be, Sam can't make himself just ask for one, doing so would be accepting Dean's not coming back.

He sets up his room to ward off demons and anything that might decide to take a chunk out of him, grabs some quick food at the diner down the street and cleans the guns just to have something to do with his hands while he waits for dusk.

Once the sun starts disappearing on the horizon, Sam is in the car, driving back towards the desert with enough time to scout the place before the moon is out.

Sam leaves the Impala parked on the shoulder of the interstate and walks until the sun is completely gone, duffel bag of supplies on his back. After finding a secluded, flat space, he takes a minute to take a sip of water before dropping the duffel bag on the hard, sandy ground. The moon is starting to show slowly in the sky; he has to move faster. Taking the supplies he needs for the spell, Sam starts drawing a circle on the ground, big enough for a person to fit inside. He draws the Apache symbols the old guy drew for him on the paper, in each corner of the cardinal points outside the circle. Inside, right in the middle, he positions a small bowl where he will add the rest of the ingredients. Next he takes the white candles and makes another circle with them outside the already drawn one. He lights them, going clockwise just as the moonlight starts painting the desert floor silver.

The spell is very simple. First, he needs something that ties him to Dean, like it doesn't tie them to anybody else. Sam grabs his knife from his belt and slices his palm open, dripping the blood into the bowl until it’s half full. He feels a little queasy, but the adrenaline and the urge for this to work, to find Dean, is stronger than losing a few drops of blood. He uses his handkerchief to stop the blood flow and ties it around his hand. The next thing he needs is something that belongs to, and is important to, Dean. The catch is that it has to be something the person doing the spell gave to the one missing, and in their kind of life it's not like they give each other many gifts; they wouldn't have anywhere to put them in the first place. Sam had a hard time getting this last piece of the puzzle, even though he had the answer right in front of him all the time. But, to be fair, he stopped thinking it was important to Dean a couple of years ago.

Which is why Sam hopes it will work. He's running out of choices here.

He digs inside the duffel bag, feeling for the leather cord. He doesn't want to think about the day Dean threw it away; about how bad things were between them and everything in general. How much it hurt to hear the clink when the amulet hit the bottom of the trash can. It had felt like Dean was giving up on him, on them, and on their fight to stop the apocalypse. As if he was done with everything and getting rid of the amulet was his way of saying he had had enough heartbreak and pain. It hurt, because he never wanted Dean to feel disappointed in him again. And he knew part of that sentiment was his fault. No matter how much Dean forgave him or tried to act as if what happened with Ruby was in the past, for Sam's sake— always for Sam never for himself— he wasn't over it.

So, Sam had kept the amulet. He went to Hell with it inside his pocket, and sometimes when Lucifer had spent the night describing in detail the things he would have done to Dean when he was in Hell if he had had the opportunity, Sam would fist the amulet with his bloody hand until the little horns dug into his skin like a permanent splinter reminding him that Dean was topside, and safe from Lucifer's poisonous threats.

He thinks the amulet is more important to him now than it is for Dean, but he wants to believe that some part of his brother regrets getting rid of it. That maybe Dean misses wearing it as much as Sam misses seeing it around his neck.

He slides the amulet inside the bowl and it instantly disappears in the blood.

The moon is finally high in the sky. It's now or never.

Sam takes a step out of the circle and starts chanting the spell in Latin. He keeps repeating the phrase over and over again. Doesn't stop even when the air changes and makes the hair in the back of his neck stand up. The candle light flickers, as if an invisible wind is knocking down the flames until the candles go out completely. Sam keeps chanting even while the smoke of the candles turns into thick fog gathering over the bloody bowl. It starts to take form, slowly rising higher. The moonlight shining when it comes in contact with it.

Sam stops the chant.

It's like watching a reflection in water. The image moving to the cadence of the smoke.

Dean's standing right in front of him, barely visible, but there. He's not looking at Sam, his attention seems to be on something else, and by his tense stance it can't be friendly. He's holding his knife on one hand, dripping red covering the blade. His clothes are torn in some places, there's not a single inch uncovered by mud.

Dean moves, turning to face Sam, eyes still scanning his surroundings. His hair’s a bit longer and a full beard has taken up residence on his face. Sam’s chest tightens at the blood running down from Dean's temple, the cuts and bruises, and how much bulk his brother has lost just in these few weeks. Wherever he is, it's not sunshine and lollipops.

Dean is alive. In bad shape, but he's still alive. Now Sam can concentrate on getting him back.

But from where?

“Dean?” his voice breaks and he swallows the lump clogging his throat. “Dean?!”

He tries again, and again, but his brother doesn't manifest ever hearing Sam. That's when he understands the words that the shaman said: he can see Dean, but Dean can't see or hear him. Dean can't tell him where he is. _It's all up to Sam._

Sam surveys the rest of the image trying to make out anything familiar or that can give him a clue. But the smoke is starting to fade and he can't see beyond Dean's image.

Desperation hits him; he doesn't know if he will have another chance to find Dean. The smoke is almost gone. Sam is running out of time.

He doesn't realize he's moving until he trips over the bowl of blood, spilling the contents all over the floor. He sucks in a breath, and when he looks back up, Dean is gone.

“Shit!” he shouts, kicking the bowl and the candles in a fit of rage.

Dean is gone, and Sam still has no clue where to find him. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Sam bends over, hands resting on his thighs as he pants, trying to gain back control of his emotions. He tries to blink away the prickle in his eyes, and takes a final deep breath that turns into a dry sob.

It takes him a few minutes for his hands to stop shaking, and his chest burns.

Was it all for nothing? All that research trying to find the shaman, and then the rest of the ingredients, only for him to fuck it up so badly?

He's failing Dean again, just like back when he couldn't find a way to save him from Hell. Dean - who found a way to get Sam out of Hell when Sam can't even do a damn spell right.

The amulet lies on the floor, tainted with his blood. Sam kneels, taking it between his hands, and in that moment it's like he can feel his brother with him.

“I'm so sorry, Dean.”

_Sorry for what?_

“I'm trying. I really am, but I don't know if I can do it.”

_It's okay Sammy. It's okay._

Sam looks up, but Dean's voice is just in his head. It's so familiar and good to hear that he aches with it. And he knows he won't be able to keep going this time if Dean is gone forever. He makes a choice right then and there: no matter how frustrating or how long it takes him, he's going to keep doing the spell every month until he can figure out how to save him.

~*~

Of course the spell doesn't work that way. When Sam goes back the next month, absolutely nothing happens. His world crumbles, and for a moment he thinks _that's it_. He knows Dean's alive, but he's not going to be able to save him. Who knows how much longer Dean can keep going in those conditions, and Sam has yet to get a clue of where he is. Anything else he tries doesn't work because he needs Dean's location. Only thing he does know is that wherever Dean is trapped is a bitch to reach.

Sam goes back to the beginning, it's the only thing he hasn't tried yet. The shaman isn't surprised to see him; it’s as if he was waiting for Sam to come back.

“Did you find what you lost?” he asks, lighting the pipe between his lips.

“Yes,”

The shaman smiles, white as snow teeth contrasting with the dark of his skin. “Good.”

“But I don't know where he is, and the spell won't work again.”

“Spell did what you wanted. To find what you have lost.”

“Technically, I haven't yet.”

The shaman nods. “Technically.”

Is he playing games with him? “How do I get him back? Is there another spell for that?”

The old man stares at him impassively. “I told you before: you lost it, you find it.”

Alright, Sam is kind of losing his patience here. Minutes are ticking by, time that Dean definitely doesn't have. “If I knew how to do that, I wouldn't be here.”

“Samuel, you ask questions that I cannot answer. You are the one that has them.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“You'll figure it out.” the shaman states, “Do the spell again during the next full moon, but think of what you want it to show you before you do so.” He nods his good-bye, dismissing Sam.

That's as much information he's going to get, so Sam turns to leave.

“And Samuel…”

Sam stops walking.

“I've given you the tools, that's as far as I can go.”

Sam nods, “Thank you.” As much as it annoys him how cryptic the Shaman is being, he gave Sam the answer that nobody could and he's thankful for that.

If the Shaman says that Sam is the one that can bring Dean back, then that's what Sam is going to do.

 

 

 

****

 

Sam moves to another town an hour away from where he first tried the spell. It's inconvenient, but he can't afford to stay in the same place for too long. He takes the time between the next full moon and now to regroup.

He's been going at this in all the wrong ways. Has let desperation and despair cloud his mind; allowed his weakened psyche from battling Lucifer's hallucinations for a year to make him blind. And, worst of all, has allowed his self-doubt that he's not capable of doing the right thing to drown the Sam that knows better than that.

Sam is not playing that game anymore. The first thing you learn as a hunter is to focus: focus on the research, focus on the details, focus during the hunt or it will get you killed, focus on not bringing attention to yourself or it could end in being behind bars.

If he's going to save his brother, he's going to have to get his shit together and bury everything else that doesn't contribute to that goal. He can deal with it later when Dean is back safe and sound.

He settles in another motel room, as far away from the rest of the town as possible, and finds a job at the local roadhouse - nothing that takes too much of his time, but enough that he can survive until this whole ordeal is over.

Sam won't have a clue on where to begin with Dean until he gets to see him again, so he uses the upcoming weeks to search for Kevin. His motel room wall turns into a map of paper clips, pictures and notes in his handwriting. One side dedicated to Kevin and one for Dean.

It's a lot to do, he knows that, but he owes the kid more than to leave him at Crowley's mercy. The problem with that, too, is that he has barely any clues without taking on a demon by himself and getting answers from it. He can't do that yet, not until he sees Dean again. But he will, if that's the only choice he has left. All he gets to do for now is to ask Garth to hide Kevin's mother in case Crowley decides to pay her a visit, and tells himself that at least that's something Kevin would appreciate.

In between his search for Kevin, he attempts to figure out what he needs for the spell, as it, like many others, calls for being specific on what you wish. It's the kind of thing that's so simple that it's easy to miss, and only comes when you are least expecting it. When he first did the spell, he wanted to _find_ Dean, and that's what he got. Next time he has to concentrate on wanting to see _where_ Dean is.

That has to be the answer. Sam truly hopes it is otherwise he's going to waste another month away.

~*~

Sam sees the demons pretty quickly; a man and a woman meat-suit sitting in the corner booth at the diner where he's currently having a sandwich and coffee at before heading out to do the spell. It's bold, they must know Sam would make them as soon they got in. They're here for him, and he wonders what made Crowley finally decide he needs to take Sam out of the equation.

He has no time for this crap, but the confrontation is inescapable.

He pays his bill and walks out without looking at the demons. They'll follow him, that's for sure. Sam turns into the alley between the motel and the diner, luring Crowley’s minions away from where they could hurt somebody else.

When the hell-spawn enter the alley, Sam is waiting for them with the demon-killing knife in his hand. They stalk closer to him, confident that they can take him out. Well, they can try.

“Let's move this along, I got better things to do,” Sam taunts.

The guy attacks first, followed shortly by the girl. Sam dives to easily avoid the guy's attempt to barrel him down, and swings the knife towards the girl’s neck. She backs up quickly, the knife just nicking her, but she doesn't move fast enough to avoid Sam's fist. Staggering back, she holds her face as the he-demon sneaks up behind Sam and slams him back against his chest, keeping his arms trapped.

Sam grunts, pained, when the girl is back to deliver a punch to his gut, knife dropping out of his grip. She goes for the face next, packing punch after punch, until all Sam can hear is the ringing in his ears. He shakes his head, trying to get his eyes back to seeing just one girl. She grins maliciously before bending to pick up the knife Sam dropped.

“Listen clearly, Winchester. I'm going to ask just one time, and if you don't give me an answer you're going to regret it.”

Sam spits out the blood pooling in his mouth. “Screw you,”

“Oh, sweetheart, I'm not the one screwed here,” she sneers. The demon holding Sam laughs curtly and tightens his grip on him. “Now be good and tell me: where is the prophet?”

Sam frowns, confused. “Last time I checked he was with Crowley,” he answers sardonically. “Unless, of course, he managed to lose him too.”

That gets him a punch straight to the ribs. Sam chokes on his next breath, his bones giving in with the force of her fist.

“Sam, Sam, Sam” she tsks.“Being a smartass is going to get you nowhere.” She grabs his hair and pulls his head up. “Where is he?”

“I don't have the answer to that. And even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you.” Her desperation is clear. They don't know where Kevin is, the kid really escaped from Crowley's claws. That gives him a momentary relief, because he doesn't know how long has it been since the escape happened, and Sam has to find where Kevin is hiding, before Crowley catches up with him. He wonders if Kevin managed to take he demon tablet with him too. His train of thought is cut short by the very pointy, lethal, and sharp blade of metal being waved menacingly in front of him.

Her cold smile is the only warning he gets before she is digging in the knife's tip, twisting it into his shoulder. Sam swallows the pained groan, he doesn't want to give her the satisfaction, but his body goes rigid and tries to escape the torture at the same time.

“I won't stop until you tell me what I want to know,” she says, pushing the knife deeper.

This time he can’t hold in the pained yelp. Sam has to do something soon or they are going to kill him. His options are pretty slim with the demon behind him holding him this tight, but he's going to try.

He waits until she twists the knife to make him talk. “Okay, okay,” he pants, mind racing. “I don't know where he is, but I can tell you where he could be.”

She yanks the knife out, taking a step back. “Now, was that so hard, Sammy-boy?”

Stupid, overly confident demons.

Sam uses the force to which he's being held to his advantage and kicks both his legs out, landing the soles of his boots on the demon's face strong enough that she falls. He doesn't waste a minute to head-butt the demon behind as hard as he can, even if that means a concussion later. The demon grunts and loses part of his grip, enough that when Sam stomps on his foot he can break out of the hold. Sam elbows him in the face and sidesteps the girl’s stabbing attack to his back. Grabbing her arm he twists, landing the knife in her stomach. She gasps and twitches, her insides lighting up as she drops on the ground, dead.

The other demon barrels into him, knocking the air out of Sam, the knife tumbling out of his hand. They both land on the ground and the demon uses his body to keep Sam trapped as he circles his hands around Sam's neck to choke him. Sam kicks his legs, trying to dislodge the demon off him. It's crushing his windpipe and he's starting to see gray in the corners of his eyes. He reaches out, desperately feeling around to find the knife. The demon is having none of it, and crushes his neck with more force. Now Sam can't breathe at all.

He can't die here. Dean is counting on him. Sam has to bring him back.

Sam grabs the demon's hand, pulling to make him let go. It's like trying to move a wall. This is it, he dies today and he fails his brother again. He told himself that he could do it, that he's strong enough, but he isn't, never has been. Not as strong as Dean. Not as strong as Dad.

_The hell you talking about, Sammy?_

I'm sorry.

_Stop apologizing and get your ass up._

I can't. I'm tired, Dean, so tired.

_Don't let this piece of shit win. Not like this. Get up._

I can't.

_Yes, you can. Stop being a wimp. You're stronger than you think, Sammy. You can do this._

Sam blinks the tears out of his eyes, and realizes his outstretched hand is touching the cold hilt of the demon-killing knife.

_Kill this asshole._

Sam grabs the knife with what strength he has left, hits the demon in the face with the butt of it, and as the demon recovers from the hit, turns the knife around and stabs him in the neck.

Air rushes back into his lungs as the demon falls dead next to him. Sam coughs, turning onto his side, his body shaking with the force of getting oxygen back into his lungs. Once he thinks he can stand up without falling back down, Sam gets onto his knees and limps to his motel room. He gets the blood off his face as quickly as his wounds will allow, and tapes some gauze on his shoulder, enough that it will stop it from bleeding until he can take proper care of it.

It's already dark, the full moon slowly rising on the sky. He has to get to the desert so he can use as much light as possible to figure out Dean's location, but he also can't stay in this motel anymore. He takes all of his research off the walls, not caring in what order he puts the papers back inside his laptop bag, and grabs his duffel before heading out of the room to drop everything on the backseat of the Impala. He peels away from the motel, keeping an eye on the rearview of the road as he drives towards the desert.

Dean's voice is gone again. Sam keeps hearing him in his head every time he tries to give up. Is it his brain self-defense to push him to keep going, using Dean because it knows Sam will listen to his brother? Or is it all a side effect of having Lucifer's voice for so long as his company?

Cas might have taken all the hallucinations with him, but maybe it was too late for them to not leave consequences.

Maybe when Sam lost his mind, he never got it back.

~*~

Dean's hair has grown enough to fall on his forehead and hide inside the collar of his leather jacket. Sam can see the same cuts from two months ago now badly healed in-between new still bleeding ones. His face is dirtier with a mix of dried blood and dirt, barely letting him see patches of skin. And yet it's obvious he's lost more weight by the way the rest of his remaining clothes seem to eat his body. Dean looks so tired, leaning against the trunk of a tall tree trying to catch some sleep that Sam is sure he barely gets to have, but he's alert, arms crossed over his chest, and legs tensed, ready to attack if anything comes near him.

Sam takes a deep breath, as much his broken ribs allow him, calming the storm of feeling that seeing his brother like this creates. He's gotta stay focused. Dean has held on this long, if anyone can survive this, it's him.

Sam scans the rest of the image. There's more trees in the back of Dean with big raised roots, good enough to provide cover, bushes and grass over a muddy soil. Like a forest.

Dean is in a forest?

There's something in the bushes, glowing red. It moves slowly, and it dawns on Sam that those are eyes. Eyes of something preying on his brother. His instinct is to warn Dean, but it would be all in vain.

He shouldn't have worried though, because as soon as the creature comes out from the bushes, Dean is on his feet taking it down. It only takes him a few seconds to land the knife in its head, and the beast is dead. But Sam watches with horror as Dean drags the knife inside the head, all the way down to the beast's tail, cutting the top in half. Dean doesn't stop cutting until the beast's organs are spilled over the muddy floor.

The brother he knows is a great hunter, ready to kill any monster because that's the right thing to do. It's their job to save people from the things they don't know even exists. That's always been the purpose of hunting for both. And always Dean cared about the many consequences of what would happen if the hunt went wrong; especially with Sam around. That purpose and fear kept him human, and separated him from being the same murderous things they hunt. The Dean he saw when he first did the ritual was still that same Dean.

But the Dean in front of him right now moves like a predator, cold eyes trained on one single spot; he's overly calm, has waited patiently for the moment to strike. Yet at the same time his body language speaks of danger, someone you wouldn't want to cross paths with not even in the best of your days. Someone who sole purpose is to kill and only the bloody body at his feet is his prize. A Dean that has to destroy his enemy to the core for his anger to seamer down. A shiver runs down Sam's back; it like he's looking at something they would normally hunt.

Sam was wrong—the beast was the prey all along.

Dean cleans the knife on his jeans and goes back to his previous position as if he hadn't just killed a gigantic monster Sam has never seen before with just a knife and his hands.

When the smoke finally dissipates, Sam is left wondering what kind of brother he's going to get back, and if the brother he knows is still there at all.

~*~

Sam is woken up by the ringing of his cellphone in the middle of the night two days later. He pats sleepily along the bedside table, his body groaning in pain with the slightest movement.

“Hello?” he grunts.

“Sam, is that you?”

Sam is fully awake in a second. “Kevin? Are you okay?”

“I'm okay. Just hiding for the time being.” His voice is steady, so different from the frightened kid he met not too long ago.

“How did you escape from Crowley?”

“It's a long story. But, in short, I used the tablet. I’ve got it with me, too.”

Atta boy. “Where are you?”

“I don't know if I should tell you that. You might be one of those Leviathan things.”

Sam chuckles despite of himself. Kid is smart. Smart keeps you alive. “Don't have to worry about them anymore. All the leviathans were slaughtered by Crowley's army. He made sure none of them could come after him.” It's the only good thing about this whole ordeal, but it doesn't give Crowley a get out of jail free card, though. Sam is still killing him as soon as they cross paths.

Kevin sighs. “I really hope this is you and not one of those things.”

“Listen, I'm not, but I get your concern. Just call Garth, okay? Your mother is with him and he'll keep you both safe until we can deal with Crowley.”

We. Him and Dean. There's no other way this is going down.

“My mom is safe?” There's genuine surprise in Kevin’s voice.

“Yeah, she's been with him for a while now. You got some paper to write down his number?”

Sam hears some rummaging on the other side of the phone. “Okay, I'm ready.”

Sam gives him the number and what to say so Garth knows to trust him. “Keep your head down and do as Garth says.”

“Yeah, I will. How about you? Do you know what happened to Dean and Castiel?”

“I'm fine. I'm working on it.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Sam considers it for a minute. There might be some answers he can use on the tablet. “Maybe. If you come across anything about the side-effects of killing a leviathan, give me a call.”

“I'll see what I can find.” Kevin assures him. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you, for keeping my mom away from this.”

“No problem. Stay safe, Kevin.”

“You too.”

 

 

****

 

 

Dean is in Purgatory. After endless readings in old books and researching lore about what kind of place could contain a gigantic, wild boar-like creature, it's the obvious answer. When monsters die, they go to Purgatory. That was their plan, to send the leviathans back to where they came from. It makes sense, that when Roman exploded he dragged Dean and Cas there for being so close to him.

 _If_ Cas got trapped there too. Sam can't be sure as he's only seen Dean so far. Maybe he's not because he would be with Dean then, right?

Sam stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hair has gotten so long that if Dean was here he would have every right to make fun of his 'girly curls'. Sam shakes his head, smiling fondly at the thought. He grabs an elastic band he found lying around, and that probably him or Dean used to keep something staked together at some point, and ties his hair up unceremoniously low on the back of his head; just enough that it won't be falling in his eyes for a while.

The bruises on his face have started to just turn yellow and the cut in his lip is finally almost completely gone. There is a raw raised pink scar on his shoulder already, and at least his ribs stopped bothering him a couple of days ago. He probably looks less worse for wear than he really feels because he barely eats these days and sleep comes plagued with nightmares that have him wishing he didn't need to sleep at all.

Unfortunately, nothing that he hasn't gone through before and that doesn't feel familiar.

_Gotta take care of yourself, Sam._

“Yeah, well, I'm doing the best I can under the circumstances,” he answers, annoyed at Dean's reproachful voice inside his head.

Dammit. Sam leans on his arms against the sink, taking a deep breath. Today Dean's phantom voice seems more persistent than ever. As much as Sam tries to ignore it, knowing it's all in his head, it feels too real sometimes.

“I miss you so much, Dean. Hang in there. I'm coming for you soon.”

The cool feels nice on his face when he walks out of his motel room. He moves to the Impala’s trunk and gets Dean's box of tools before popping the hood open and opening the box on the ground. Sam hesitates for a moment. The Impala has always been the most precious object in his brother's life, the home that's always been there throughout the years, and while it's home for Sam too, his brother's reverence for the car is ten times bigger than his. Sam has always teased Dean about it, but he understands, and he respects Dean's need to have something solid that has not been taken away from him.

Now he's going to get his hands dirty tuning the car as Dean had taught him a few years ago, because Dean's not here to do it. He's done it before when Dean went to Hell to save his life, it should be easy, he knows what to do, but this time there's this bigger fear that he'll mess up the car. That's what he does, right? He screws up everything he touches and then tries to make amends, but by the time he's done gluing back the pieces as good as he can from his last mistake, there's a new one coming up to add to the great book of shit he's going to have to fix. It doesn't matter that each time he was trying to do the right thing, the end result is what counts.

He sometimes wonders how he let his life go this far down, but then he remembers that neither him nor Dean ever had a choice. Their entire lives were molded to fit a destiny of blood and destruction. They have changed the end result many times, but Sam guesses that doing so doesn't come without consequences and there's only so much they can push against the tide. His fears are things he keeps to himself, and he locks them back inside because he can afford to stay inside his head for too long. He has a job to do, and right now it's to maintain the Impala with as much love as Dean has done. When Dean comes back, the car needs to look exactly like the last time he saw it, and then Dean will know he's home again.

Soldiering up, Sam sets up everything he needs and gets to work. It's probably lunchtime when he's setting the tools back into their place, but he's fixed the rattle and it feels good to do something and get the result he wanted.

“You're pretty good at that.”

Sam blinks out of his daze, turning to where the voice came from. There's a plain woman in a flowered knee-length dress, sitting on the top step of one of the motel rooms across the parking lot. She's holding a beer in her hand and offers her extra bottle to Sam as an invitation. Sam considers whether to go there or back inside and resume his research on finding a way to get to Purgatory now that he knows Dean is there. It only takes a second for him to choose to take her up on her offer, because as much he reads and reads, he's stuck on what to do next. His father once told him that when you're focused on something for too long it becomes difficult to find the answers you need after a period of time. That's why he closes the hood of the Impala and then takes the offered beer before taking a seat next to her.

“Amelia,” she raises her hand.

Sam shakes it shortly. “Sam.”

“That's a nice car, Sam,” Amelia compliments, then tilts her head. “Sixty-seven Chevy Impala?”

Sam grins softly. “Yeah.”

“That's quite an oldie, my uncle used to have one of those. It looks great though, you must really love that car.”

Sam looks back to the vehicle. “It's my brother's.” When he glances back at her, there must have been something in his voice that makes her look at him with sad, understanding eyes.

“I'm sorry for your loss.”

Sam nods because there's some truth in those words. He lost Dean, just not in the way she's thinking.

“I lost my husband four months ago,” Amelia adds, playing with the wedding ring on her finger.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Sam really does feel sorry for her. He's known way too many times how it feels to lose someone you love.

Amelia takes a sip of her beer. “I still expect him to walk through the front door of our house and ask me how my day was.” She grins sadly, “Does something like that happen to you, Sam?”

Sam looks her in the eyes. ”Every day,” he answers sincerely.

Her eyes go soft and her shoulders lose their tension. “It's good to finally talk with someone who understands.”

They talk for an hour about little things that people take for granted; interchanging stories about those who are not with them to tell it, as much as Sam can share. In between he realizes that this is the first conversation he's had with another person that wasn't to gain information and has lasted more than a few minutes, over almost six months. And talking with someone who understands how much you can miss somebody that even your bones hurt with the pain of the loss quiets the voices in his head for a while.

The voices stay silent long enough that when he returns to his room and takes a single look at the wall with all his notes and research, the next step to finding Dean is as clear as water staring back at him.

~*~

There're only two beings that have the information Sam needs to find and get to Purgatory. Unfortunately, Crowley is obviously not going to give him anything and will take time to find as he's doing everything possible to not cross paths with Sam, leaving Sam with no other option but to track down the vampire Alpha.

It's not easy to find him, either; the Alpha covers his tracks very well. But Sam is desperate enough to do something stupid like capturing a vampire and pumping him up with so much dead man's blood it starts singing the Alpha's location by the end of the day.

It's easy to get into the plantation-style house, _way too easy_. Sam was expecting having to wade through vampires guarding the place. Maybe the vampire’d lied and the Alpha isn’t here, or this is a trap. But Sam needs this information; trap or not, he's going all in.

Sam comes upon double doors to a library and opens them ever so slowly, doing his best to keep the noise to a minimum.

“I know you're here, Sam. Please do come in.”

Shit.

_Way to go, Sammy._

“Shut the fuck up.” Sam murmurs to Dean's teasing voice. He opens the door, not bothering to be inconspicuous anymore.

The Alpha is sitting on an antique chair, glass with ruby red fluid that Sam has no doubt is human blood, in hand. “I've been waiting for you.” The Alpha says, impassively. “If I remember correctly, and I do have an outstanding memory, the last time we crossed paths your brother and you made me the promise that you would not come after me.”

“That hasn't changed.”

“And yet, here you are.” The Alpha puts his glass on the table next to him. “Why are you here, Sam?” His voice is calm but leaves no doubt that he's not going to play any games and has no problem with ripping Sam's throat out.

“I just need you to tell me how I can get to Purgatory, and I'm gone.”

“Purgatory again,” he says, annoyed. “Why would I tell you such a thing?”

Sam swallows. He came here knowing that it wouldn't be easy to get the information, but he's too close to getting Dean back to not try. “Because if I go and don't make it back, you'll have gotten rid of both of us. If I do make it back, I'm still not coming after you.”

“You say that as if you or your brother pose any threat to me.”

“You know we do. Why make sure we wouldn't hunt you down after giving us your blood if that wasn't the case?”

The Alpha grins; on his face it's terrifying. “Touché.” He interlaces his fingers together. “I'm curious, where is that brother of yours?”

Sam tenses.

The Alpha deciphers it himself. “Oh my, aren't you in a pickle?”

“Are you going to tell me or not?”

The Alpha regards him pensively. “I guess I will.” He smiles, hidden intentions glinting in his eyes.

Sam barely holds in his surprise.

“Under one condition, of course”

Ah, it was too good to be true. “What do you want?”

“I want to not see you ever again. This time you better mean it because, if you don't, you and your brother will be dead before you step a foot in my house. Got it?”

“That's all you want? Really?” Sam can't help the sarcasm in his voice. This is way too easy.

“I don't need anything else.”

Sam nods. “Okay, then you don't exist for us.”

“Good.” He opens the drawer and takes a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles something on the paper. “Go to this place. Tell her Hassan sent you, otherwise she's going to break that long neck of yours. And bring her something shiny, she's more willing if you bring her a gift.” He extends the paper towards Sam. Sam looks at his hand nervously. “Go on, take it. Promise I won't bite.” He smirks.

Sam approaches cautiously and grabs the paper quickly. There's an address written in it. “She’s going to tell me how to get to Purgatory?”

The Alpha tilts his head. “No, dear boy, she's going to take you there.”

It's better than Sam was looking to get. Folding the paper, he saves it inside his jacket. “Thank you,” he starts backing up, too wary to give the Alpha his back yet.

“Good luck, Sam. For the place you're going, you're going to need it.”

Sam walks out of the house quickly and doesn't relax until he's in the next State. Holy shit, that really was the stupidest crap he's ever done. But it paid off.

~*~

The address takes him to a treacherous road— one side solid gravel and the other a fifty foot drop. At the end of it there's an old house with nothing but trees and an extensive bed of gardenias divided only by the stretch of walked on grass ending in the house. It gives the impression of being abandoned with the pieces of falling wood, peeling black paint, and dusty floor. Sam guesses that whoever lives here doesn't want any visitors.

He climbs the wobbly steps up to the porch and knocks. There's not a single sound inside. Maybe she's not here? Sam tries to look inside through the windows, but all he sees is broken furniture covered in dust and spiderwebs. It's very doubtful someone is actually living in this place.

Maybe the Alpha Vampire tricked him. It should have crossed Sam's mind earlier, but he wanted to trust that the Alpha is as much a creature of honor as he portrays himself.

“So, you're the boy who wants a free trip to Purgatory.”

The feminine voice startles Sam, and he turns around, hand already poised on his gun.

The young woman, dressed in jeans and a loose shirt, with long wavy hair, eyes him curiously. There are empty plant pots in both her hands that she puts down next to the bottom step. “Well, are you?”

“I am.”

She smiles with her red painted lips. “Sam Winchester, isn't it?”

Sam nods. Her posture is non-threatening, but there's something about her that sends shivers down his spine. She's definitely not someone to take lightly. He remembers the Alpha's warning then. “Hassan sent me.”

“I know,” she says, walking up to the porch. Sam moves out of the way, keeping a fair distance away from her. “Come in, Sam.”

She opens the door, and against all of his instincts he follows her inside. The place is completely different to what it looked like through the window. Everything that screamed abandonment is gone. Instead there are new wood floors, a nice living room with an active fireplace, and a hall too long to belong in this tiny house. Now he gets why the Alpha asked him to bring a gift as there's many different knik-knacks on the tables and walls, all of them gold or shiny.

The woman comes back to him after dropping some more wood in the fireplace and raises her palm up, an inquisitive look on her face. Sam quickly takes out a necklace with diamonds out of his pocket and hands it to her. It's the last thing that they had left from their hunt with the dragons back when they were faced with Eve, and that Sam had managed to hide before Dean spent all the gold— just in case they needed it for an emergency. Being proactive always pays off.

“Hmmm, pretty. That will do,” she says, saving the necklace in her jeans’ pocket. “Follow me.” She starts walking down the hall and takes him to a set of double doors. She opens them and beckons him inside.

The room is pretty much empty except for the sigils and incantations on the walls and a big circle drawn in the middle of the floor. It reminds Sam of the same circle he used with the spell to find Dean, sigils in each cardinal point.

“My name is Aynira. I'm a guardian of doors.”

Guardian of doors? Sam tries to remember if he ever read something like it before, and comes up empty. “I've never heard of you.”

“That's because you're not supposed to know I exist.” Aynira waves her hand dismissively. “That can be fixed later.”

Sam fidgets at that. Whatever that means it's probably not good. He should leave, there's still time to stop this before it's too late. But he's made it this far, and he's not backing out until Dean is safely here. He clears his throat. “So, how many doors do you guard, exactly?”

“Heaven, Purgatory, Hell, and many other dimensions that your human eyes can't see. All of them have multiple doors. You have to know where to look for them.”

“And you can open Purgatory's?”

“There's no door I can't open or close.”

Sam eyes her. “That has to require a lot of power, and you look pretty normal to me.”

“Ah, that's what you see?”

Sam frowns. “Am I supposed to be seeing something else?”

Aynira regards him pensively. “No.” She then grins. Sam has the suspicion there's more to it, but she obviously is not in the mood for sharing. “Now, Sam, enlighten me as to why you wish to make such a dangerous trip?”

“My brother, Dean, he's trapped there. I'm going to bring him back.”

“Ah, blood brothers, one of the strongest bonds humans have.” Aynira walks around him, sizing him up. “But I see there's something else in there— Oh, well, this is interesting, you're soulmates too?” she tilts her head, amused. “It's been years since I saw such a thing between brothers.” Aynira contemplates. “You might be able to pull this off after all.”

It shouldn't be reassuring coming from her. But Sam will grasp any hope even if it comes from a stranger he's pretty sure could end his life with a snap of her fingers.

“What do I have to do to get there?”

Aynira walks away from him. “You've got to lend me your soul.”

Sam is floored. “Lend you my soul?”

“It's just part of the ritual.” She explains, gathering a leather pouch from the floor. “If your soul stays in this plane, it's easier for me to pull your physical body back here.”

“How do I know you're not just going to take it and leave me there?”

“You don't.”

“If you need my soul, shouldn't you need Dean's to bring him back?”

Aynira turns to face him. “Aren't you a fussy one, huh?”

Sam swallows.

She laughs. “I like it.”

Sam relaxes a little. “Well, don't you?”

“No.” Aynira raises her hand to stop Sam from asking another question. “If I have your soul, I can tap into his too.”

“How?”

She tilts her head again. “You weren't surprised when I mentioned the soulmates deal, but you don't seem to know what that actually means, do you?”

Other than sharing heavens, Sam has no clue what she could be talking about. He shakes his head.

“Then that's for me to know and for you to find out. If you make it back, that is.”

Sam purses his lips at her riddling. It doesn't matter anyways. If he makes it back with Dean— good. If she tricks him, and he stays trapped in purgatory with Dean, it's way better than staying in this shithole of world all alone. “Alright, how do we get back?”

“Same way.”

Sam frowns. “I'm going to need a little bit more than that.”

Aynira smiles. “Once you enter that door, you have 24 hours to find your brother. If you fail to have him under your touch when the time is up, you'll come back here alone. Is that clear enough for you?”

Twenty-four hours doesn't seem enough time to cover a place he doesn't know and is probably very big. If he fails, and comes back without Dean… he doesn't want to think about what he'll do.

Aynira pats him on the arm. “Don't worry, I'll get you as close as possible to your brother. But once there, you're on your own.”

Sam nods. “Understood.”

“Great. Now stand in the middle of that circle.”

“Wait. Will something else come to this plane if you open Purgatory?”

“No. Nothing goes by that I don't allow.”

“Good.”

Sam steps over the line and stands where he's told. He hopes that his machete, knife and gun are good enough in case he has to kill some monsters on his way to Dean. He's walking into unknown territory, it's terrifying and yet he's very eager to get there. After almost a year of searching and fighting to find a way to save his brother, he's finally here.

Aynira opens the pouch. “Ready?”

Sam nods. He's as ready as he can be.

Aynira pours a sandy substance onto her hand. “Twenty-four hours, Sam. And follow your instincts.” She says before blowing the dust onto him.

 

 

****

 

The dust hits Sam, and suddenly he feels like the floor is caving in and he's losing his grip in reality all at once. His gut reaction is to fight the pull, but it only serves to send a wave of pain under his skin, like fire ants are trying to eat him inside out. When his body stops hurting, he dares to open his eyes, and trees expand in front him like a forest. He brushes his sweaty hands over his shirt, and he glances around. This definitely looks like the Purgatory he saw in the smoke.

Huh, he doesn't feel much different than himself. Sam still has the vivid memories of how hollow and emotionless he was while being soulless for year and a half. Lending his soul to Aynira had sparked the fear that he'll feel the same emptiness again. But he doesn't feel any of that emptiness right now. The only explanation of why that's not the case this time must be that Aynira is really using his soul as the thread to pull him out of Purgatory. The connection that feels like a constant sharp tingling inside his chest that faintly calls for him. Maybe she's wasn't actually trying to trick Sam into giving up his soul after all.

It suddenly hits Sam how quiet the forest it is, eerily so, though also dark like before a thunderstorm as he can still see around him, but, when he looks up, the trees seem to go on forever and there's no sign of the sky. Knowing the things that should be hiding in the tangled branches and twisted undergrowth, Sam was expecting the place to be louder with the sounds of growls and snarls as the monsters tear into their new prey. He isn't fooled, though. The icy sensation in his neck and back is a clear indication that he's been watched.

He takes his machete into his hand, ready for anything that tries to use him as dinner, and starts walking, following a stretch of forest dirt floor that looks like it has been recently walked on. Sam has no idea how he's going to find Dean in time, and if he fails all he did would have been for nothing.

He walks for what seems like hours, but when he glances at his watch, the hands are stuck in one place. Great, he doesn't even have any way to know how much time he has left.

There's a sudden sound to his left that makes him stop dead. He scans the bushes, body tensing in wait for the attack. Another sound comes this time from his right. Whatever it is, it's playing with him, using the advantage of knowing the territory better than Sam. They could come up from anywhere and surprise him. But Sam has been hunting monsters for more years than he has not, and whatever comes out from behind the trees, he's ready for it.

Aynira told him to trust his instincts.

He thinks about how Dean was so calm, just waiting for the beast to come to him before launching his attack.

Sam takes a deep breath and closes his eyes; he listens intently to the rustle of feet as they come closer. One… no, two. The tread is light - they must not be too big, but it doesn't mean that they're not deadly.

The first one comes rushing out on his left; Sam swings his machete up, hitting the thing straight on. Disgusting blue goo explodes out of its head and onto Sam's clothes, stinking like rotten eggs. Sam doesn't have time to feel nauseous before the other one jumps on his back. It tries to take a bite of his neck with teeth as sharp as a shark, but Sam grabs its hair and pulls its head back. Sam runs backward, smashing the thing into the tree. It's persistent, and now is using its limbs to lock itself around Sam's torso. Sam sees a stubby, jagged branch sticking awkwardly out of one of the trees that looks like it could cause some good damage. He runs the thing into the branch, and he's free. But the thing keeps snarling and twisting, trying to free itself from the wood nearly spearing all the way through its body. Apparently getting impaled won't do the trick. Its head rolls on the floor after one swing of Sam's machete.

Jesus, what kind of place is this?

He's wasted too much time, so he starts running down the faint, trampled path. He hopes that at the end his brother is waiting for him.

~*~

After killing a couple of vampires, a wraith, and a skinwalker, Sam gets lucky and isn't disturbed by a new monster he doesn't want to make acquaintance with.

Unfortunately, when he gets to the end of the trail, his luck runs out. Dean's not waiting for him there, and instead a family of branchless trees stands in front of him. There's a sickening, pungent smelling fog waltzing between them and he can't see beyond the first line of trees.

Sam looks around. There's no other way to go but straight forward. He's going to regret this. He takes his handkerchief and ties it behind his head to cover his nose before walking towards the dense forest stand. On closer inspection, Sam can now see the gigantic skeletons melted into the trunks, two on each side, some with just the head left, almost as if they were eaten by the tree trunks. Sam suppresses the shudder that runs down his body. Yup, he's totally going to regret this. But if Dean is on the other side, then he can get through it.

He wades in between the trees, careful not to trip on the raised roots, the fetid smell becoming stronger the deeper he goes. The handkerchief is barely able to keep the smell out, and, more often than not, Sam stops to cough, eyes watering with the effort. He has to keep going. He has to find Dean. Sam sways on his feet, falling to his knees for lack of anything to hold himself up besides the embedded skeletons, and there’s no way he’s touching the trunks— just in case.

Fuck, he can't breathe. The smell is too strong, clogging his lungs and poisoning his body. He scrambles to his feet. He has to get out of here, before he can't. Sam pushes forward, running as fast as he can, his lung protesting with the effort to obtain clean air. He can almost see the fog clearing a little when he trips on a root and falls on his stomach, machete spiraling away into the fog. This time he can't get up. Sam coughs, turning onto his back, panting.

“ _I can't say I'm surprised about this turn of events.” Lucifer suppresses a sigh above him. “You truly must love to get yourself into the direst of situations.”_

No.

“ _What, you thought you really got rid of me?” Lucifer chuckles. “Sammy,_ Sammy _, you should know better.” He crouches down closer. “No matter where you go, no matter how fast you run, I will_ always _be here.”_

No. He's not real. He can't be.

Sam turns around, fighting to get his legs under him.

“ _You know I'm real, bunk buddy. Otherwise how do you suppose that after Castiel took on your—“ he moves his fingers to quote. “hallucinations, you can still see me?”_

“You are not real!” Sam shouts as strong he can.

“ _Keep talking to me. It proves your point so well.” Lucifer sing-songs sardonically._

Sam manages to get onto his feet, the air seeming to clear enough that breathing isn't so much of a problem anymore. He's gotta get to Dean.

“ _Aw, Sam. Your attempts are so heartwarming, really.” Lucifer stands in his way. “We're not done having fun yet.”_

“Get out of my way.”

“ _Make me.”_

Sam launches but he hits air.

“ _Someone has become much more feisty,” Lucifer bristles behind Sam's back._

It doesn't matter, he's out of Sam's way now. Sam starts walking, moving fast, trying not to stumble.

“ _It's all to no avail, Sam.” Lucifer appears on his left between the skeletons._

Sam ignores him.

“ _You can ignore me all you want,” Lucifer shrugs_.

The trees finally give way and Sam walks into an empty clearing, the embedded skeletons forming a circle around it.

“ _But the truth will still be the same,” Lucifer whispers in his ears._

Sam’s heart drops to his feet. “No.”

Dean is there— hanging from one of the trunks, beaten and bloody.

“No!” Sam runs towards the tree and uses the roots like steps to get closer to his brother's body. “Dean, wake up.” Sam shakes him, his hands staining with Dean's blood. “Wake up, dammit!”

“ _Poor Sammy, always so close, yet so far.”_

Sam eyes start to burn. His shaking hand searches for a pulse. A dry sob escapes his mouth when he finds none.

“ _Big brother is dead,” Lucifer fakes surprise._

“Shut up,” Sam growls, anger bubbling up. He jumps off the root and turns to face Lucifer.

“ _Finally, you're ready to join the game,” Lucifer smiles, proud of himself._

Sam feels a wave of dizziness hit him, like the ground has just been shaken under his feet. When it's over, his head is clearer and his cheek stings. He blinks. Games. Lucifer is playing with him. He glances back to Dean's body but it's gone. “None of this is real,” he whispers.

“ _Are we back to that again?” Lucifer pouts, annoyed._

Sam turns to leave. Nothing is real.

“ _I'm real!” Lucifer shouts._

Suddenly he’s right in front of Sam, and his hand shoots out to grab him by the neck. Sam fights his hold as Lucifer squeezes his throat with extraordinary force.

“ _How many times do I have to tell you? You can't escape me.”_

‘You're not real’. Sam thinks it over and over again until he's almost out of air. Until he finally believes it. Until pain explodes again on one side of his face.

~*~

Sam shoots up gasping, hands shaking. He holds his cheek, still stinging with burning pain, and distractedly notices the small cut on his arm under the rolled sleeve of his jacket and shirt that wasn't there before. His head swims with what must be the after effects of inhaling the stinking, mind-altering fog, because he’s sitting on grassy ground and the deadly forest expands in front of him— he's out. He then looks down, eyebrows furrowed, and finds a dirty hand on his jacket holding him steady. Sam follows the arm until his eyes land on a familiar face. He could cry right now. “Dean?”

Dean gives him a bearded grins.

Sam scrambles to his knees, almost falling on his face if not for Dean's hold. “Are you real?” He touches his brother's shoulder with the pads of his fingers, relieved when the push of solid muscles and bones fights him back. Sam glances back up, still not able to believe it. It could be a shifter or something else. As if reading his mind, Dean rolls his torn sleeve up and makes a single cut on his arm with the silver knife he has always carried with him. Just as he definitely did with Sam a few minutes ago.

Nothing happens and Sam's chest starts to fill with a spreading, calming warmth that in his darkest moments he thought he would never feel again.

He found him. Dean is here with him. Sam exhales, the weight of how long it’s been since he had his brother next to him like this lifting. He pulls Dean into his arms, holding him tight. “Dean.”

“Sammy,” Dean answers, his voice so rough from disuse it breaks.

Sam doesn't stop the tears this time. Dean hugs him back, and it only serves to break Sam more. It feels like a dream. God, he hopes this is not a fucking dream.

Pulling back, Sam gains control of himself and glances at the deadly forest. “Did you get me out?”

Dean shakes his head. “You did.”

Sam's eyebrows lift in understanding. He remembers almost seeing the end of the deadly forest just right before Lucifer appeared. He made it out, but the fog had taken over his body already by then. Everything was a hallucination; a manifestation of his worst fears, dragging him down to what he's sure would have been his death. But he woke up because— Sam raises his hand to his cheek and glances at Dean.

Dean winces. “Sorry.”

Sam shakes his head and a laugh bubbles inside. Everything he's been through all these months is suddenly so worth it, and he would do it again without a second thought as for the first time in a while —maybe his whole life— all the steps he took, every single decision he made, was finally the right one. Because now he gets to look at Dean in the eyes and sees how proud, and grateful he is to see Sam here. Because Sam came for him. Sam didn't give up on finding him. Sam is the one who gets to save his brother this time.

But then Dean punches his shoulder angrily. “What the fuck?” he mumbles.

Sam's eyes narrow. “Are you pissed at me because I came after you?”

Dean shushes him, waving his hand for Sam to speak lower. “You're trapped too.”

“Seriously? Do you think I would come here without a plan to get us out?” Sam deadpans. “Who do you take me for?”

Now Dean glares at him.

“We're getting out, together. Just have to wait for the twenty-fours I had to find you to run out.”

Dean eyebrow perks up.

“I know what I'm doing, okay?”

Dean considers him pensively, obviously gauging if Sam is lying to him. He seems to come to the conclusion that Sam isn't bullshitting him, and drops the subject for the time being.

“Why are you alone? Where's Cas?”

Dean shrugs.

“He wasn't with you when you landed here?”

Dean shakes his head.

“And you haven't seen him at all?”

Dean huffs. “No,” he answers pointedly.

“You think he might not landed in the same place as you?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Alright.” Sam placates. “We can figure it out once we're back.”

As they sit in silence waiting Sam scans his brother, now that the adrenaline and the storm of feelings has simmered down. While Dean is still painted with dried blood, dirt, and mud, is skinnier than is probably healthy, and his hair is even a few more inches longer than the last time Sam saw him through the spell, nothing seems to be life-threatening and that Sam can’t fix once they're back. It worries him that Dean's talking so little and prefers to communicate with gestures, and hopefully once they're home his brother will feel safe enough to be his never-stop-talking-self again.

Sam ruffles Dean's hair like Dean used to do to him when they were kids, and Dean growls and slaps his hand away. The ‘I got an excuse, what's yours?’ written all over his face. Sam is about to respond when Dean suddenly stills, body going rigid.

“What is it?” Sam asks, worried, but Dean shushes him as he stands up slowly turning to face the forest behind them. Sam's hackles rise quickly, and he's up, taking his knife into his hand.

A branch snaps from behind the trees and a black dog… no make that a gigantic wolf… thing comes out of the darkness. It eyes them, nose fluttering, trying to catch a scent.

“Don't move.” Dean whispers.

Sam wants to look at Dean, confused as to why not moving would make any difference now, but he obeys. When Sam regards the wolf, its eyes are a pale white— sightless. It can't see them, but likely it can hear and smell better than just fine.

The wolf walks a little bit closer, moving his head towards where Dean's standing, smells the air and seems uninterested. Then he moves towards Sam's direction, and Sam knows the moment the wolf's nose flares and a deep growl erupts from the massive throat that he's in trouble. The wolf charges and Dean is pulling Sam out of the way before he can blink. Dodging the wolf by an inch, Dean takes the chance to dig his knife into the creature's ribs. The wolf whines in pain but isn't deterred by it and runs after Dean who's trying to get the wolf away from Sam. Moving away _from_ Sam.

Sam scrambles to his feet and runs after them, the wolf dangerously close to Dean. When he's close enough, Sam draws his gun out of his belt and shoots at the beast. The wolf falters on its run and turns, his rage now focused on Sam.

Shooting again and again, until his clip is empty and the wolf finally comes to a stop, dropping down on the soil, lifeless, Sam breathes out relieved. Dean walks back to him, an unamused expression on his face.

“What? It worked, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean glances at the forest and Sam gets it— the gunshots will probably draw more monsters to their position. But he's counting… _hoping_ , that they won't be here anymore when that happens.

“Don't worry about it. Just stay next to me.” Sam pulls Dean closer by his jacket as they move away from the dead body.

They are only a few inches away when the wolf suddenly pants heavily, making them turn and watch as it heaves itself back up like it hadn’t been shot eleven times just minutes ago. The wolf shakes his head, bloody drool falling out of its mouth when it grins menacingly.

Sam feels Dean urgently pulling at his jacket for him to move only to abruptly still and then gasp. Confused, Sam glances at him and then down at himself— he's glowing, light shining stronger by the minute. The time is up. Head down, ears skinned back and teeth bared, the wolf starts to stalk towards them. Dean shifts as if to make a run for it but Sam stops him. “It's okay, Dean, we're going home,” he assures, and folds his confused brother into an embrace.

The light blinds them just as the wolf launches, and Sam feels himself fading away. The same vertigo twists his gut, but this time there are no fire ants because he doesn't have a reason to fight the pull back home. The tingling sensation inside his chest disappears, and he stops feeling the tug of his soul asking his body to come back.

They land unceremoniously on hard wood. Groaning, Sam rolls on his side before sitting up. Dean is doing the same next to him and glancing around warily. They are in Rufus’s cabin. It comes as a surprise; Sam was expecting to be back with… Huh, he can't remember her name or what she was, and when he tries to remember his drive to her house he comes up empty. Only thing he has left is the vague memory of a woman that helped him, and even that seems to be vanishing every passing second.

It's not important for him to know, and that is weird in itself too. Sam shrugs mentally before looking at his quite apparently disoriented brother. “We're back, Dean. We're not in Purgatory anymore.” Sam grabs Dean's jacket, still not able to stop touching his brother for too long. “We're home.” He smiles, relief and happiness building up inside.

Dean grabs Sam's neck in that affectionate way he always does, and smiles back.

“Sammy,”

Sam nods. “I know.”

The nightmare is finally over. They are alive and together again.

It feels good to have a happy ending for a change.

 

 

**~Fin~**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ♥
> 
>  


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